Factory Girl
by behindthemontage
Summary: Bella Swan has always felt trapped and even a little ashamed of being from rural, backwoods Forks. When she takes time off from her ivory tower to work at the local factory, what can she learn from a beer-drinking, blue collar boy in workboots? *Lemons*


Chapter 1

"Bella! Hey, BELLA!"

I felt my heart sink as I identified the voice behind me, and reluctantly paused, turning and leaning on the heavy iron door I had just opened as I waited for my _favorite_ new coworker to catch up with me. I watched as Miken, as his hick friends supposedly called him, swiped entry through the iron gate and hurried down the stairs to catch up with me, his heavy steel- toed boots causing his footfalls to echo across the parking lot in the fading light. I allowed myself one last sigh before he got within hearing range. He stopped and caught the door as I turned back into the factory, already late for my shift on only my second day. Annoyed with myself for my irresponsibility, I swigged the last of my huge coffee and stuck my earplugs in my ears. Unfortunately, they're only made to tune out high- pitched sounds, not voices inches from your ear.

"I was hoping I'd see ya again today, kid! Looks like you're C team, too! We can take our breaks together! Did I give you my cell number? I just got a new phone. My friend Ike has the same one. The other half of Miken/Ike? Geez, you're quiet today, cat got your tongue?"

"I'm tired," I said, and it wasn't a lie. I tried to speed up, as he was walking such that his side bumped into me with every step and his mouth was right next to my ear. I could smell the faint after- scent of chew, which I remembered from visiting my grandfather when I was young. It made me even more nauseous, and I tried to keep my distance as I wound my way along the factory paths towards my gate. I considered him for a moment, since he seemed to have the attention of all the girls at the plant. Tall, blonde, well- built, friendly. I supposed I could see it. But had they SMELLED the kid? Ugh.

It was my second day on the job at the Forks Paper Plant, and I, Bella Swan, bookworm extraordinaire and Stanford student, was a stranger to both physical labor and the kind of people who did it. Not that I'd call myself a priss, but when I'd decided to take the semester off to help my Dad pay my school bills, 12- hour night shifts at a paper plant were not exactly what I'd had in mind. Unfortunately, in a place like Forks Washington, there's not always work to be had, Ivy League student or no.

The place staffed temp workers, and thus hired nearly anyone, so I was surrounded mostly by men who couldn't hold jobs elsewhere, and Forks men at that. The kind I hadn't had to see as a kid. They smoked, they chewed, they came to work drunk. They were unwashed, missing teeth. They came in with bloodstained boots from their latest hunting session, they leered, they told their friends what they'd do to me in tones way too loud for a whisper in the break room, they showed me photos of their trucks on their cell phones. They thought Obama was Osama Bin laden in disguise.

The only others were teen parents, drug users, and a few sparse college drop- outs, among which I supposed I could be counted, although there was no doubt I was going back in the fall.

Call me a snob, an elitist. Tell me I'm judgemental. Fine. But I had to spend 6 months here, and all of my friends were off at college, while I was stuck here. Of all the gross men, pregnant teen girls, and obvious drug addicts I'd met yesterday during my first shift, Mike, while flirtatious, annoying, and not exactly well- read, was the most tolerable. I tuned back in in order to not completely alienate him as we passed the huge rows of forktrucks.

"...thinking maybe we could go out for an after- work beer. You know, it'll be really fun because it'll be like 8 am and we'll be drinking! You know?"

I forced myself to be kind.

"Mike, I'm not really used to night shift, so I think I'll still be too tired by the time I get through this shift. Maybe next week... we could get a group together."

"Okay! Hey, give me your cell number so we can text during the shift!" And reluctantly, I found myself doing so, needing any distraction to look forward to during the twelve hours of repetitive drudgery ahead.

I pulled on my safety goggles and arm sleeves, and checked my assignment: Repacking. And best of all, the team leader today was Jessica Stanley, who was a) a snob from my high school, b) very pregnant with the child of a boy who was long gone, c) very much in love with Mike, and d) very much jealous of the attention he paid me. And repacking was what I'd done yesterday, which meant the hours of opening boxes, unpacking boxes, ripping packages, packing new packages, and stacking off new boxes would work the same, untrained muscles that were already sore. I grimaced. _At least I'll have some nice biceps to show off back at Stanford in the fall. Working manual labor will give me some serious BA points in that hipster crowd._ Sighing, I thought of my beloved friends back in California. I hadn't yet called Alice back. The thought of her reaction to my new job was horrifying. I could just see it. _Bella, chew? Paper dust? STEEL- TOED BOOTS? _The thought cheered me. I couldn't wait to tell her every sordid detail.

The blessing was that the noise of the manufacturing rooms was too loud to have to converse with anyone. There were also no windows, which made it easy to ignore the fact that it was already eleven at night.

After the first six hours, I was already feeling worn thin. My back ached. I had avoided the usual break- room disgusting conversation, lost in Milan Kundera's prose, reveling in intelligent discourse, in beauty, if only in a novel.

When I walked back to my station after my lunch break, which I'd eaten in the bathroom with my book again, the place formerly occupied by Tyler, a pimply, gawky boy working there at the insistence of his blue- collar- pride dad, I found it empty. Jessica came waddling over to me, and again I wondered how she still managed the hours with that belly. _She must be eight months and having quadruplets! My God, if I poke her she'll explode!_

"Swan, " she said nastily, "Tyler got sick at break and the plant sent over a replacement. He knows how to do it, so don't get in his way."

I heard her giggle as she walked away. "Eddie, don't let the prep get you down, honey. She's just a baby, Don't be too hard on her." I could smell sawdust and something fresh, and although awaiting the usual whiff of chew or body odor, found none. I refused to turn around to greet yet another new dude, so bad was my mood.

I flinched when suddenly the guy was so close behind me that I could feel what was obviously beard scruff on my ear. He spoke low and liquid, his arm brushing my side nonchalantly.

"Hey, newbie. You're awfully little for a job like this. Having fun yet?" I turned into the most shockingly green pair of eyes I had ever seen. They were clear and big and bright, framed by black eyelashes and roughly the color of celery. As he blinked and pulled back, apparently amused at having startled me- a smirk coming over his- some part of my brain briefly pondered why men always thought being scared somehow led women to be turned on. I struggled to compose myself. I felt dizzy. His breath was sharp spearmint. He grinned a little, showing white teeth, red lips. I hadn't yet taken all of him in, "If not, I know a few ways we could remedy that. You got a name?"

I looked down, wanting to get away from his face, which was way too close. I could see his 12 o'clock shadow, so I looked further down a long expanse of dark wash blue jeans to where his timberland boots stood sturdily on floor. I hated myself for appearing shy, but wasn't there such a thing as personal space? His nearness made me itch.

I was torn between simply wanting to pull away to regain my composure, and anger at yet another unwelcome come- on, even if this guy wasn't as openly repulsive. My well- trained, polite Bella brain kicked in to cover me while I processed.

"B-Bella. Swan." I looked back up.

His smile grew wider, lazy. His mouth was all I could see.

"Edward. It sure is a pleasure."

I turned back to my packing without another word and refused to note how close he stood. I started singing under me breath, needing any distraction. _Is that rolling in my stomach disgust, that sandwich from the vending machine earlier, or...?_


End file.
